by Larry Jaffe

Miles davis lived around the
block from me deep in the upper
west side of manhattan island
and he played like one man could be an island
living for his horn that paid his daily paid
and living in this house made of gingerbread
on west 77th street
while I lived on west 76th
and would see him every now and again
going into that brownstone
that his horn built
I got to meet miles
walked round the block
round the clock
where miles stood outside
his homestead
proud as peacock
he told me how much
he liked san francisco women
cause their bottoms were so round
not flat from riding subways all days
he said with smile
nudging me guyhood joke
you know what I mean
he said with trumpeting grin
tickling ivories
we went inside
past the new york façade
and into his musical domain
headquarters for lonely horn players
miles still smiling at this stranger
then he showed me his horn
the purity of miles' trumpet
leans into me
he sings it blue
my eyes tear uncontrollably
he has touched melodies
that riff with magic
I escape egos with
this horn
it is evolution of life
in notes counterpoint
my fingers feel broken
in comparison
they want to make
the same sounds
with words
that staccato lip thing
that makes the trumpet
merge with man
he showed me his horn
in this house of stalactites hanging
upside down from ceilings
made of sugar coated dreams

when I was a kid
I dreamed of playing trumpet
wanted it more than sex
but I wore braces on my teeth
and they said I would
cut my lips to ribbons
and bleed on my horn
I looked up with tears
and thought miles
miles always
always bleeds on his horn

© 1999 lgjaffe
Originally from New York, LA poet Larry Jaffe has featured in Austin on numerous occasions, most recently at the 1999 Austin International Poetry Festival. His latest collection, Jewish Soul Food, will be released on CD through Dead End Street Production later this year.